Tonight her hair was swept up in a knot atop her head and held by a black doodad, but he’d seen it down before, long and pale. She was like a fairy tale, a blonde Rapunzel with a hint of Tinkerbell in her heart-shaped face and blue-bonnet eyes. Jace laughed at his fantastical thoughts but thought them again when he saw her coming toward him with a big blue towel.
“I warmed this in the dryer.” She draped the heated terry cloth around his shoulders. “You look cold.”
He was cold, inside and out. Tonight’s failed rescue chilled his soul.
“Thanks. Feels good.” The towel smelled good, too, clean, fragrant and warm. Or was that Kitty?
“You really should get out of that wet shirt. Sloan could probably loan you one of his.”
The rain had started, a soft drizzle right before they’d given up the search.
“I’m okay.” She couldn’t know that he would never remove his shirt in front of anyone. Ever. He was modest, yes, but more than that, he was ashamed.
Kitty hovered, and he searched for something, anything to say, but his useless tongue stuck to his mouth. He’d had no one to fuss over him since he was small, and having her bring him a towel or a glass of tea or a cheery smile felt good. Too good to ruin with words.
Ah, who he was kidding? If not for her motel and the work he did there, Kitty Wainright wouldn’t give him the time of day. The motel office was a shrine to her hero husband and according to the local gossip he’d picked up over breakfast at the Sugar Shack each morning, Kitty had openly declared herself a widow forever. As was her way, Kitty was kindhearted and good to everyone. Even a stray dog like him.
Which made them friends and neighbors and nothing else. Ever. He had long ago declared himself a lifetime bachelor, though his reasons were far less heroic than hers. He rubbed at his shoulder and remembered a time too ugly to forget.
“Let’s eat.” Annie waved her hand over the steaming bowls of chili she’d set at each place. “There’s plenty. Hope it doesn’t keep you up all night.”
They chuckled at the joke, knowing it wasn’t indigestion from the spicy chili that would keep them awake tonight.
They ate in silence until Justin broached the topic of to night’s tragedy. “Do you think they’ll find him?”
Sloan laid aside his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. “Drowning victims are usually found.”
“But not always?”
“No. Not always.”
Annie shuddered. “Gruesome.”
“I wonder if he has a wife and family,” Kitty mused and Jace turned to look at her. “I remember when Dave was killed. The army sent an officer. Who tells a civilian’s wife?”
“The police.”
Annie said, “I wonder if it’s on the news.”
“Should be. There were reporters everywhere.” Sloan trekked over to the counter where a small TV hung from the cabinet. He positioned the screen toward the table.
In the months since Sloan Hawkins, purportedly the bad boy of Redemption, had returned to his hometown and married his high school sweetheart, Jace had come to like and respect the man. There was darkness in him, a darkness Jace recognized because of his own shadows, but Annie Markham Hawkins and a relationship with God had smoothed some of Sloan’s rough edges.
Jace knew about that, too—the lightening of dark places with faith. He’d be a dead man without Jesus.
A half-dozen fast-paced, loud commercials flickered across the screen while Sloan surfed through the channels in search of late-night news.
“Here we go,” he said, tossing the remote to the table as he returned to his food. “Chili’s good, Annie girl. Just what I needed.” He winked and squeezed her hand on the tabletop.
Jace suffered the familiar pinch of envy. No man was an island, or some such proverb.
“Hey, Dad. There you are!” Justin leaped up from the table to point. Sure enough, the camera scanned the scene at the river, then focused on Sloan’s face. Relieved that he didn’t appear in the shot, Jace listened as a digital Sloan repeated his comments to the reporter. He’d no more than thought the thought when there he was. The shot was only a flash as the camera panned but enough for him to recognize himself. Not once, but twice as the cameraman surveyed the rescue attempt.
“You look handsome, handsome,” Annie said, smiling at Sloan.
Sloan thumped a fist against his chest. “Hollywood will be calling. What do you think, Jace? Me and you. Made for TV?”
Jace forced a laugh as the rest of them chuckled at Sloan’s attempt to lighten the situation.
But chili curdled in the pit of his stomach. TV was the last place he wanted to be.
Chapter Two
Four days later Redemption still buzzed with the tragedy. The rescue had been scaled back, renamed a recovery effort, and moved downstream.
“Horrible,” thought Kitty as she whipped sheets from the bed in Unit 7 and tossed them in with a pile of towels for the laundry. The unit had been occupied by a reporter who’d decided the story was over and rushed off to film tornado devastation up in Cleveland County.
Linens in arms, Kitty left the scrubbing for later and stepped out into the spring sunshine. The morning was golden, though the weatherman said more rain was coming. Her fingers practically itched to be digging in the planter boxes and tiny gardens around each unit, but the ground was too wet. She sniffed the scents of grass and damp earth.
Up on the highway a trucker geared down with a low whine, a sure sign he was entering Redemption, not leaving. Maybe he’d stop in for a room. She could use the income.
From the roof of Unit 2, the whoosh-bang of a nail gun told her Jace Carter was on the job.
Kitty turned toward the sound, dropping the linens in the laundry room on her journey.
Balanced on his knees atop the roof of Unit 2, the quiet carpenter placed a nail gun against a shingle and fired. Her motel was old and the roof of this room hadn’t withstood the test of last week’s downpours. The inside was a mess, too.
“Good morning.” She shaded her eyes against a stunning glare and looked up.
She could barely see him. Just the curve of his back and the rubber-gripped bottoms of his work boots.
With a skitter and crunch of feet and knees against old-fashioned asphalt shingles, Jace came into view. Moving with studied care and smooth athleticism toward the edge of the roof and the extension ladder, he lifted a gloved hand.
Backlit in sunshine, tool belt low on one hip, brown hair neatly spiked and gleaming clean, Jace wore old jeans and a white and gray striped shirt. She’d never seen him in anything but neatly pressed long sleeved shirts. He was, she realized, a good-looking man.
Kitty ground her back teeth, annoyed at herself and at Annie for putting the notion into her head.
“Morning,” he said, voice low and soft. “I hope the noise didn’t wake you.”
“No. Of course not. I’m an early riser.” She figured he knew that already as much as he’d worked here. When he made a reach for the ladder, she stopped him. “Oh, don’t let me bother you. I only wanted to say hi and ask if you’d like coffee or something.”
“Got my thermos, thanks.” He smiled, a slow, almost cautious response that crinkled the weathered edges of gentle hazel eyes.
“How’s